


A Kiss on the Forehead Is Better Than None

by grimmauxillatrix



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Medical Examination
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 12:53:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3120854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grimmauxillatrix/pseuds/grimmauxillatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sniper breaks his ankle, and needs it fixed. The Medic is struggling with professionalism and his feelings for the Sniper. For the TF2 Secret Santa 2014.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Kiss on the Forehead Is Better Than None

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the 2014 TF2 Secret Santa. My giftee was Madjesters1 and their prompt was Request 3) Sniper/Medic. Sniper is hurt and is being fixed up by medic. After Medic finished wrapping up bandages Medic gives Sniper a kiss on the forehead. Sniper is happy.

Today was a day that, to put it mildly, just wouldn’t quit. The BLU team had lost, and quite badly as well, having to endure one of the worst humiliation rounds in recent memory, with the finally victorious RED team milking it for all it was worth. The breakfast this morning had fallen to Pyro, who had in their enthusiasm lit most of the pancakes ablaze before the Heavy had been forced to step in and take care of the mess. And now this.

The Medic stared at the Sniper writhing in the dirt before him, first looking down at the man, then up at the ladder the man had been climbing up before one of the rungs had snapped in half. “So,” He says slowly, resisting the urge to take his glasses off and rub the bridge of his nose in exasperation. What an adorable idiot this man was, he thinks, before snapping himself back to reality. “Explain to me what exactly you were doing.”

“I toldja already, mate,” The Sniper groans, stopping in his writhing for a moment to look up at the Medic with agonized eyes, his sunglasses knocked aside by his fall. “I was going up to my nest, to get my tools, and the bloody ladder went and broke, and then something in my leg went and broke. Can ya help a man out or do you want me to drag myself into the infirmary?” 

“Why are your tools up there?” The Medic asks, mildly distracted by that new addition to the story.

“Cause that way Engie doesn’t do crazy things to them in the name of improvement.” The Sniper says, then groans again, clutching at his leg. Now that he’s looking at it, the Medic can see that his ankle is bent at a most unusual angle. “For god’s sake, man.” The Sniper’s words startle him out of his reverie. “Will ya help me or not?”

Sighing, the Medic reluctantly crouches down next to the Sniper and lets him hook an arm over his shoulder. The proximity makes him shiver, and he tries to put it off as mere moment of exhaustion as he stands, supporting the man and helping him slowly shuffle to the infirmary. Halfway there, the Sniper’s foot gets caught on a doorstep and he howls, making the Medic both flinch at the sound right in his ear, and then shiver pleasantly once more as the Sniper’s head falls on his shoulder. Pushing the feeling of hair brushing his cheek and scent of sweat and gunpowder out of his mind, the Medic soldiers on, determined to get this stupid oaf to the infirmary before he injures himself even further. 

Once in, he manages to get the Sniper onto the gurney before the Australian begins speaking again, giving the Medic a solid stare as he bustles around the infirmary, collecting his various tools. 

“So Doc, what’s wrong with my leg? Am I going to die?” He chuckles a little at his own joke, then freezes when the Medic gives him a mournful look. 

“Oh yes, Herr Sniper. I am afraid that such an injury is most often fatal.” He allows a moment for the Sniper to grow a little pale, then chuckles and pats him on the shoulder. “I am merely joking. I would not allow one of my teammates to die of a simple broken ankle. I am afraid that you will live a long life and bother me plenty more with little scrapes and injuries like this.” Giving the man a gentle shake, he finally lets his hand slide off of the Sniper’s shoulder. 

“Now, let’s take a look at this ankle of yours.” Kneeling before the Sniper, he tugs the boot off of the offending ankle as gentle as possible, though still provoking a pained howl. Hissing an apology between his teeth, the Medic puts the boot aside and uses careful scissors to snip off the sock underneath. 

“Good lord, you’ve done quite a thing to yourself.” The Medic purrs upon seeing the sight of the Sniper’s very broken ankle. “You’ve snapped it almost clean in two, I am sure an x-ray would confirm my analysis. However, seeing as we don’t have one, you will simply have to trust in my diagnosis.” The Sniper stares down at him suspiciously over the lenses of his glasses, hissing and whining as the Medic continues to gently manipulate his ankle back into a semi-set state. “I think we will have to let the bones set for a day or two before I can use the Medigun. It would not do to have them heal improperly, and then have to re-break your ankle, now would it?” When the Sniper whines in the negative, the Medic smiles and moves the man’s leg back up onto the gurney, leaving in a swirl of coat tails to gather bandages. Most strangely, he can feel the Sniper watching him as he bustles about, and despite both his better knowledge and intentions puts on a little show, stretching up to reach the longer rolls of gauze and the splints rather than using the stepping stool like a sensible person. The Sniper’s gaze on his back practically burns, and it amuses him greatly when the man turns away and pretends to be examining the far wall when he whirls around, gauze, bandages and splints in hand. 

“Look, can ya, I dunno, give me a painkiller or something before you go manhandling my ankle?” The Sniper asks, pulling his leg closer to himself defensively and wincing when the Medic slaps down his supplies and pulls a stool closer. “Not that I’m ungrateful,” He adds after the Medic lifts an eyebrow at him. “But I’d rather not be screaming and howling for the whole base to hear.” 

That sentence puts a rather delightful image into the Medic’s mind, which he pushes away rather forcefully. No, it was unprofessional, and the Sniper was probably not looking at him out of desire, but rather as a hunter, tracking a threat. What silly notions popped into the Medic’s head sometimes. He shakes his head, more for himself than for the Sniper, but realizes that the man might misinterpret the gesture. 

“Ah well… yes, I suppose I could give you a local anesthetic, since you asked so nicely.” He chuckles and gets up again, rummaging through his drawers for the right box of medicine. Finding the right bottle, he dons fresh gloves with a snap, making the Sniper flinch, and fills the needle, advancing upon the Sniper, who looks up at him rather fearfully. “Oh don’t worry,” He says, patting the Sniper gently on the cheek before swabbing a patch above his ankle with anesthetic. “It will only hurt for a moment.” He enjoys watching the Sniper’s face first contort in pain, then relax softly as the anesthetic begins to work its way through his ankle. Giving the drug a scarce minute to work, the Medic sits back down on his stool and begins manipulating the Sniper’s ankle back to where it needs to be. The Sniper still whimpers and bites his lip, but sighs with relief once the bones are set back together and the Medic begins diligently bandaging the offending limb back up. 

When he’s done, carefully arranging the bandages and splints for maximum support, the Medic straightens up and wipes his forehead on his sleeve. “Well. That didn’t hurt a bit, now did it?” The Sniper looks at him as though he was a lunatic, and the Medic tsks and pats him on the cheek gently, smiling benevolently at him. “I’m sorry if it did.” He adds, which is quite unusual for a man who cackles during open-heart surgery, and before he thinks, he leans forward to kiss the Sniper on the forehead. 

The moment lasts for just a second too long before the Sniper makes a strangled noise. The Medic jerks away, too busy trying to cover his own blush to notice that the Sniper was burning as red as a cherry as well, eyes wide as his sunglasses slip further down his nose.

“Well Herr Sniper, I am sure that your ankle will be stable until it can be healed, thank you for cooperating so nicely,” He babbles, yanking the Sniper up off the gurney and dragging him towards the door in an attempt to get rid of him as fast as possible. “I’ll come get you when your ankle is ready, have a lovely day.” He shoves the Sniper out into the corridor and yanks the infirmary door shut, then sweeps into his office to sink into his chair, hands dragging slowly down his face. What a fool he’s been. What a complete and utter fool.

Outside, the Sniper knocks on the door a few times, with increasing volume. “Oi, Medic! Come back out! Let’s talk about it!” He hammers on the door some more before sliding down to sit on the cold linoleum of the hallway with a sigh. “You didn’t give me any crutches or anything, ya German idiot!” he finally shouts, though even that doesn’t bring the Medic out. He ends up pouting in front of the infirmary until a sympathetic, though incredibly amused, Pyro shows up and helps him to his camper.

* * *

 

Three days later, the Sniper is summoned back to the Medic’s infirmary, with a pointed lack of face to face contact. He manages to hobble in, and plunks himself down on the gurney. The Medic is nowhere to be seen, which is at this point to be expected. The man has been acting like a school girl ever since what the Sniper has dubbed “the incident”, running away from him, peeking around corners and dashing away, sitting on the far side of the dinner table, all stupid silly little things that didn’t help the situation a single bit. In fact it was embarrassing for the both of them, with even the Demoman making comments about how the Medic is acting like a “silly little ninny.”

Sniper didn’t think the Medic had been acting like a ninny. Sniper thought that the Medic had been acting like a confounding fool. For three days now he hadn’t been able to get a straight answer out of the Medic. The longest conversation they’d had had been in the locker room, before the battle the day after the Sniper had broken his ankle. 

“No, Herr Sniper, you cannot come out to battle today.” The Medic said, crossing his arms and presenting the very picture of stubbornness. 

“Nah? I can’t now?” The Sniper asked, rifle already in one hand, crutch in the other. “I just sit and shoot anyway. Won’t make much of a difference with a broken ankle.”

Evidently these had been the wrong words to say to the German, because the Sniper suddenly found his shirt seized in a blue-gloved fist, dragging his nose to press inches away from the suddenly irate Medic’s own, their glasses clacking together. 

“Don’t be stupid,” The man had hissed, shaking him a little bit. “You will do poorly, and you will die and die again, all because you are too proud to take a day off! Sit down and stop being foolish!” With surprising strength the Medic threw him down onto the bench, hard enough to make the Sniper bite back a yelp as he jarred his broken ankle. He swirled around in a billow of white, the tails of the coat that the Sniper can’t stop watching almost close enough to grab, and the Australian felt the pit of his stomach drop. He’d really screwed up this time.

The Medic fidgeted with his Medigun as the rest of the team began filing in, casting mildly surprised glances over at the Sniper sitting out on the bench. He didn’t move until the Administrator’s countdown began, whereupon he shuffled over to the Medic, jerking back when the man whirled to look angrily at him.

“Can’t ya just hit my leg with the gun now?” He asked, as the rest of the team began heading towards the gate in their eagerness. “Just fix it already, it can’t be that important to let it wait.”

The Medic’s face had twisted into something close to spite. “Oh no, of course not. It can’t be important to let it heal properly so it won’t break again and give you permanent damage. Sit down, Herr Sniper, before I break your other ankle.” He dragged the Sniper back onto the bench and shoved him down as the countdown reached zero, and stood over him, staring at him with what looked like malice written all across his features. He stood there, simply staring, until the Heavy had returned and dragged the doctor away.

Now the Sniper sits in front of the infirmary door in one of the hard chairs they had in the waiting room, bouncing his uninjured foot up and down. The Medic had summoned him, actually summoned him, after the yelling and the subsequent cold-shoulder he’d been given. So what were they going to do? Were they going to talk, or was the doc just going to zap his leg and go? To be quite honest with himself, the Sniper had recognized burgeoning feelings in his gut for the man in white a long time ago, but he’d never wanted to admit it. The Medic did not seem like the kind of man who would be interested in a scruffy bushman who pissed in jars and spit more than was strictly appropriate. 

Just as Sniper was beginning to sink into his introspection, the door opened, and the Medic’s stiff voice called his name. Carefully he gets up, balancing on the crutch, and begins swinging his way in. The distance between the two men is in marked contrast to the last time the Sniper had been in the infirmary, and the Medic seems to be fighting to maintain that distance, allowing the Sniper to seat himself on the gurney before adjusting the Medigun to sit right over the man’s ankle. 

Not a question was asked, the Medic simply hit the switch, and the Sniper’s leg was engulfed by the blue swirl of gas, seeping in through the bandages and tingling up and down his leg. The silence grew and stretched as the Medigun hummed and did its work, and the Sniper bit his lip as he could feel his bones grinding back together. It lasted only a moment, and then his ankle felt whole once more, and he lets out a sigh of relief. This seems to trigger a reaction from the Medic, who steps forward to flick the Medigun off and then, with delicate, cautious fingers, unwraps the bandages around the Sniper’s ankle. Still not a work spoken between them as the Medic forcibly keeps his distance, trying to unwrap the bandages without touching the Sniper as much as possible. He’s forced to touch the man once all the bandages are off, to check to see if the ankle has healed properly, and it is not a coincidence that makes them both suck in a breath as flesh meets latex.

“Does it hurt, Herr Sniper?” the Medic asks, at the apex of prim professionalism but paused in his examination.

The Sniper shakes his head, throat going a little dry. “No, not it doesn’t. I think you fixed it up good.” He mumbles, and watches the doctor go back to his examination. He’s made to demonstrate a full range of motion before the Medic removes his hands with a little nod.

“It looks like you are at full health and you can regain your duties once more.” The Medic says, turning away. In a moment of impulse, the Sniper reaches out and grabs the Medic, tugging him back. 

“I appreciate it, but I gotta know that you won’t yell at me again the moment I try to set foot out the gate.” 

The Medic’s face twists, and he tries to tug away, but the Sniper’s fingers are wrapped firmly in the rough cloth. After a moment of struggling, the Medic stops with a sigh. “I am sorry if my actions caused you any harm,” He says, pushing his glasses up his nose, looking like he’s trying to regain control of himself. “I was merely concerned that you were going to do something foolish.”

“Were you really though, mate?” The Sniper asks, following his hunch. His hunter’s instinct rarely led him wrong. “Just that I was gonna make a damn fool of myself? Nothing else?”

“Nothing that would concern you.” The Medic snaps, trying to tug away once more, now looking dangerously angry. “Let me go.”

“I don’t believe that something about me doesn’t concern me.” The Sniper retorts, voice sliding into a dangerously lower register. “Come on now, it’s just the two of us in here. Say what’s trapped fluttering behind those lips of yours.”

The words slip out before he can find a better way to phrase them, and the Medic reflexively claps a hand over his mouth, flushing, before whipping his hand away and scowling. Sniper just stares at him, hand still fastened in the shoulder of his coat. Finally the Medic seems to deflate, with a small, drawn-out sigh to match. 

“I hate to see you get hurt.” The German confesses slowly. “It pains me to know that you are often killed because I am too busy out there on the field to come to your aid. So I wanted to keep that from happening more often than usual, especially with your broken ankle.” The Sniper lets his breath come out in a rush, and the Medic recoils.

“Oh no, no no mate, don’t run now,” He says softly, as though he were trying to gentle a skittish animal back out on the bush. “Not after you’ve told me all these lovely things. Do you mean it out of affection, or just out of professional pride?”

The Medic looks suspicious, and then surprisingly wounded. “Would I have said anything about pain if it was mere professional pride?” He demands, sounding more like his usual irritable self.

“Well then, mate,” The Sniper asks, a small grin growing on his face, ignoring the butterflies flopping about in his stomach, “I’m grateful for the help and the worry, but don’t I get another “get better” kiss?” 

For a moment he worries that he’s said the wrong thing, watching the Medic’s face turn a bright crimson. The Medic looks like he’s on the verge of running away, but he surprises the Australian by slowly stepping forward and planting a gentle kiss on his forehead. The Sniper can’t help but gasp again, appreciatively, but he’s frozen still by the audacity of the idea of his move. The Medic pulls away, and it’s now or never, the Sniper decides. “Well that’s very nice, but I think it would be nicer a little lower down.” 

The entire team would probably agree that there were very few times the Medic could have genuinely been considered speechless. This may have been one of them. The German stood before the gurney, twisting his hands before the Sniper, regarding him with a combination of longing and what appeared to be suspicion. 

“Herr Sniper,” He finally says, sounding stiff, his accent particularly strong. “Are you mocking me?”

“Me? What?” The Sniper babbles, caught off guard. His perfect gambit had unexpectedly come crumbling down around his ears. “No! I mean it! I want to kiss ya! Right on the lips and everything!”

“And everything?” The Medic repeats, looking confused. The Sniper, having had about enough of this roundabout discussion and the fluttering in his stomach, stands up and gently takes the man by the shoulders. 

“And everything.” He says, very seriously. “You uh… Don’t mind if I initiate, do you?” 

The Medic shakes his head, mute and wide-eyed, and the Sniper hesitantly puts his palm on the man’s cheek. When the Medic doesn’t pull away, or make any sign that this is unwelcome, the Sniper bends in and gives him a gentle kiss. He’s surprised when the Medic responds, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him in closer, immediately deepening the kiss. When they finally pull apart, they’re both red-faced and shy, avoiding each other’s gazes. Finally, the Sniper breaks the silence with a soft, “Yeah, like that,” and they both dissolve into helpless giggles, trying to hold each other up. 

The team regularly question’s the Sniper’s sanity after that, wondering why on earth he would willingly spend so much time in the infirmary with the Medic. Neither of them explains, merely presenting their teammates with subtle smiles. Occasionally at the dinner table, when they happen to be sitting next to each other, they will gently twine fingers and grin at each other, and the team wonders what on earth those two are conspiring. Nothing too serious, they would reassure them if they ever asked. Just plans to read books side by side on the Medic’s office couch, and an enhancement to the Sniper’s Huntsman that would allow it to function like the Medic’s Blutsauger. Just little couple things, really. 


End file.
